Mingbin, Gaga and Me

I do not want to get on this plane.  I want to stay in this state of airport gate-waiting for eternity.

I’m not afraid to fly. I don’t particularly like it, and usually I feel a little ill when I fly, but it’s only an hour flight and I have good music and a book about George Harrison (my travel buddy) so I should be set.

No, I want to stay here because this is the first time I’ve felt a sense of calm in the past several days. I got a tea, put on a travel playlist my friend made me, and set up to write this blog. It’s nice to stop, to breathe, to pause this state of existential dread.

I want to stay here and think about how adorable my Lyft driver, Mingbin, was. He was a tiny Asian man, probably 70 years old, driving a Mazda with a dancing flower attached to the dash. After a few minutes of pleasantries, he switched on a CD and suddenly I was back in my sophomore year of high school listening to Just Dance by Lady Gaga.

I have so many questions.

Did he make the CD for himself or was it given to him? It’s clearly a mix of Gaga songs spanning several records, and some are remixes. Is he playing it because he thinks I will like it? Or is Mingbin a Little Monster himself? One can only hope.

I watched the little plastic dash flower dance along to Born This Way as we passed an IKEA and I remember thinking about how much I’d rather re-live the 24 hours of travel to India (turbulence and airplane food-induced diarrhea included) than set foot in an IKEA for an hour. That place is like a maze, set up to destroy and feast on the souls of new homeowners.

I miss Mingbin. He didn’t try to make small talk, which is good since I didn’t really want to talk and also couldn’t understand him very well. He drove like a little old man,  thankfully, because I’ve clung on for dear life in the back seat of many a car in my day. He just played a ridiculous amount of Lady Gaga while I alternated between giggling and singing along.

So Merry Christmas everyone! Happy Hannukah, Happy New Year, congratulations on your new baby, have a nice time at the gym today, happy winter. I hope we can all be just as adorable as Mingbin this holiday season, or as he described it “this long weekend.”



Merry Christmas, Plebeians

We were going for “romantic” but Mickey’s rockstar heart just can’t be tamed.

Dear Friends,

Well, 2013 sure did fly by — like me, on my private jet, flying off to Morocco. I have, once again, had an amazing year that was probably much more exciting than yours.

As you probably read in the tabloids, my new lover Mickey and I were swept up in a whirlwind romance that culminated in him proposing atop the Eiffel Tower a few months ago. As we prepare for our lavish wedding in the Bahamas, we wanted to make sure we kept you up to date with our lives, since you will definitely not be getting an invite to the wedding. It’s very exclusive, and you’re just…not exclusive material.

When my latest book, Welcome to Paradise: A Memoir of Fame, Glory and Striking Beauty hit the shelves earlier this year, I was hailed by critics as “clearly having a better life than anyone else on the planet” and “a perfect example of why other people should just sit down and stop trying, since Cappy is so much better than anyone else ever could be.” Obviously, the book wasn’t as popular as I’d hoped (is a Pulitzer really too much to ask for?), but those reviews were rather sweet.

I travelled the world on yet another exhausting book tour over the summer. Asia was particularly difficult because, wherever I went, fans wanted photos with me. It must’ve been my gorgeous face, long legs and blonde hair that really made them love me. Well, that and the fact that I inspire awe wherever I go.

I dyed my gorgeous locks pink for charity earlier this month, and have been offered several modeling gigs since. I guess I just have “the look” now (who am I kidding — I’ve always had the look). I’ve turned them all down, of course, because with my hectic schedule and amazing love life I just don’t have the time. Besides, I wouldn’t want to make the other models jealous of my natural, raw talent.

Mickey has been trying to relax lately. After his recent tour of North America with his rock band, The Cat’s Meow, he came home to our New York apartment and slept for a week. When he woke up, we started a strict sushi diet — all that fish oil is really very good for the hair, you know — and have been lounging around and opening our Christmas presents from our adoring fans.

We love you. Without you, we’d have no one to brag to about our important lives. We expect amazing things in 2014 and hope you stay healthy for another year so you’re around to hear us brag about our accomplishments in the next Christmas letter.


We love you!

We love you!

Oh. It’s Christmas.

ImageWell, it’s not Christmas exactly. It’s Christmas Eve. Regardless, it kinda snuck up on me!

There’s a list of questions going around YouTube that vloggers answer, and it’s all about Christmas. Since I don’t make videos, but I really wanted to answer the questions, I thought I’d write a quick post about it instead! Hooray!

1. What’s the best Christmas gift you’ve gotten? Hmm. That’s a tricky one. My grandmother (Brownie) gave me a huge recipe-keeper book one year. You write down recipes in it and it has little organizing tabs in it. It also has clear sheets that you can paste old recipe sheets onto to preserve them. Basically, it’s the most basic, seemingly boring gift, but it clearly had a lot of thought behind it, and it’s been really useful to me over the years. I love to cook, and I know I’ll keep it til I’m dead. Maybe they’ll bury me with it.

2. What’s the worst Christmas gift you’ve ever gotten? I don’t think bad Christmas gifts even exist. If someone bothered to give you something, and took time out of their lives to pick it out or make it for you, then…what are you complaining about, exactly?

3. Sing a line from your favorite Christmas song. Every day! Would be like a holiday! When my baby…when my baby comes hooooome!

4. What’s your favorite Christmas film? Mixed Nuts. It’s got Steve Martin, Juliette Lewis, Madeline Kahn, Adam Sandler, and Rob Reiner in it. There’s a lot of shouting, a crazy man in a Santa costume, and Liev Schreiber is a cross-dresser. So really, what’s not to love? (The answer is nothing.)

5. If you could re-name one of Santa’s reindeer, what would you name it? I think Vixen is a pretty silly name for a reindeer. It sounds like maybe, when it’s not Christmas Eve, she has a job as a stripper at some dive bar in Iceland or something. So I’d rename Vixen to…Maude. Dasher, Dancer, Prancer and Maude. 

6. What’s your favorite thing about Christmas? Everything. I like that everyone’s in a good mood (do that more, people). I like that we get to cook a lot. My family usually has a nice little Christmas party and it’s nice to be reminded that we have a lot of wonderful friends. And I like snow.
I think maybe my favorite thing about Christmas is the snowy nonsense that happens. We go sledding, and my dad typically biffs me in the face with a few snowballs, and I get snow down my coat and freak out. And people can never seem to figure out how to drive in the inch of snow we get before Christmas, so they get all panicky and it’s pretty hilarious. Aaaaand I like how shiny everything gets. Shiny and bright.

Anyway, that’s the end of that! Merry Christmas to all of you, even if you’re not Christian (I’m not…but I still celebrate Christmas because I believe in love and happiness). I hope you have a fabulous time with your families and friends, and hopefully you’re in a nice mood. Yay!

Santa, You’re A Bad Husband

santa kissingI know Christmas is over, but we’re supposed to keep it in our hearts all year long anyway, so I figured I’d amuse you all with a rant about how terrible of a husband Santa probably is. Special thanks to Christina, my sorority sister, for starting this joke and inspiring this post.

1. He’s fat, which means that he eats a ton of food that Mrs. Claus has to cook every night, he’s very possibly diabetic, he probably has a lot of heart problems, and he  refuses to go to the gym. Or maybe he was just born this way, baby. Either way, he’s a financial drain because food is spensive and medical bills don’t pay themselves.

2. He kisses other women underneath mistletoe. Santa is a loose woman unfaithful! He gets it on with other people’s mothers, then gives those children presents as a bribe to keep quiet and not tell their daddy.

3. He’s gone all night on Christmas Eve doing who knows what with who knows who (see #2).

4. He’s home EVERY OTHER DAY FOR THE REST OF THE YEAR. Sittin’ around, yelling, “Linda! (That’s probably Mrs. Claus’ name) Get me a sandwich! I’m trying to watch the reindeer games on ESPN! LINDAAAAAAAAA don’t forget to use extra mayo! LINDAAAA you didn’t use enough mayo! LINDAAAA I’m having a heart attack, take me to the hospital!”

5. His best friends are squeaky little people who hammer on things all day long. Can’t anyone get any peace and quiet around here?!

6. He’s basically unemployed. Who pays Santa? Certainly not all the children that he bribes with toys. Certainly not all the fathers whose wives Santa has kissed. Certainly not those women, because that would technically make Santa a prostitute…wait…

7. He might be a prostitute.

The End. Merry January, my little muffins.

Ho Ho Humbug

scrooge-mcduck-christmas-carol1Merry Christmas, my little muffins! I hope you’ve all had a wonderful day with wonderful people, and I hope you’ve been feeling charitable and merciful, etc etc.

That’s what I want to talk about, actually — all the things we do in the holiday season but tend to forget about for the rest of the year. Somehow, we forget to be cheerful and nice, charitable and equitable, open-minded and open-hearted. I’m guilty of it too, sometimes, and it’s sad. No, it’s not even sad, it’s stupid. It’s plain old dumb.

I don’t understand our obsession with ourselves. I don’t understand why we look down on the poor and forget to be decent human beings all year round. If we acted this merry and charitable every day, the world would be a beautiful place.

I watched Mickey’s Christmas Carol the other night (because you can’t have Christmas without watching at least ten two versions of A Christmas Carol) and one line Scrooge McDuck said reminded me of a lot of people I know: “You work all your life to get money, and people want you to give it away.” In America especially, we think we’re entitled to a lot of things, most of all money. And while I don’t want to get into that political/moral/ethical debate right now, I do want to say that yes, we are allowed to keep the money we make. BUT. But, we should also understand that sometimes people are just less fortunate than others; we tend to think that the poor are lazy little buggers…but there are plenty of rich people like that, too. Let’s just remember that Scrooge said that, and he isn’t the most lovable character in the beginning…do you want to be a selfish jerk like that?

Just take a moment to think about what you need in life and realize that a lot of other people don’t have that. Then take out your wallet (or better yet, take a little of your time) and give. Give of yourself so others can have what you have.

So go on, go out there and keep Christmas in your heart all year long. Fling charity about with wild abandon, not just this week, but every week, and every year, until you’re so old and gray that you can barely shout Merry Christmas anymore.

Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year…and Merry Year-Round Christmas. I love you all.

Happy Holidays! I’m Better Than You

3069914518_26770c90dfDear Friends,

It’s that season once more! The season of giving (to me) and snowmen and hot cocoa, which means its time to read my annual Holiday Letter of Self-Obsession.

As you all know, my Pulitzer Prize winning novel “This is Why I’m Hot” came out last year to rave reviews, so I’m pretty loaded now.

After my divorce from my brain surgeon husband (don’t worry, my divorce lawyers were better than his and I came away with the condo in the Bahamas and his mother’s antique diamond ring) I’ve been living a glamorous single life. Divorcing George was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, since our long relationship of one year really meant a lot to me (and he was seriously gorgeous), but the grief weight I lost was totally worth it!

In the wake of my book’s success and my very public divorce, I was hard at work on my new autobiography “The Life and Times of Me: The Jet-Setting Single Gal Who Still Manages to Make the Men Swoon” which came out last month.

I method-wrote the heck out of that book (by which I mean I travelled to every major Caribbean city and tanned for 3 hours a day in order to collect enough data to write a really sexy book about passion and mangos). I was like Daniel Day-Lewis, but feminine and a writer. And sexy.

I have also really enjoyed meeting my fans on my world book tour these past few weeks. The little people really do love me, and I’d like to thank them all for standing in line for hours while I sat in a chair drinking tea and receiving gifts from them. I want to say this: I appreciate your concern for me after my divorce, but if I get one more self-help book from you idiotic nothings, I will sue you all. Love you!

I’m now relaxing at my beach cottage in Florida with my man-servant Juan (who I met in yoga class). Juan is very flexible, soI’m enjoying life. I hope you have all been as fortunate as me this year, though I very much doubt it. If any of you are in Florida over the holidays, I would love to help set you up at a nearby cottage (for a small fee, of course). Stay beautiful…but not as beautiful as me.




Yes, Mary Did Know.

Mary, did you know that your baby boy would one day walk on water? Mary, did you know that your baby boy would save our sons and daughters?
Well, yes…an angel woke me up in the middle of my beauty sleep to let me know. I don’t think I would forget something so significant.

Did you know that your baby boy has come to make you new?
Were you drunk when you wrote that line? Because it doesn’t make any sense. Someone’s been dipping into the holiday nog.

This Child that you delivered will soon deliver you.
Yes, and as I understand it, his sacrifice will be about as painful as giving birth to a child without the use of pain killers or antibiotics. Do you know how dirty mangers are? They are infested with lots of very unsanitary things.

Mary, did you know that your baby boy will give sight to a blind man?
No, but apparently you do. Good for you, you’re amazing, shut up.

Mary, did you know that your baby boy will calm the storm with his hand?
Baby strong man!

Did you know that your baby boy has walked where angels trod?
Ooh! Ooh! Me too! Remember that thing about the angel coming down from heaven and telling me that my baby was God’s? We went on a little walk and at one point I probably stepped on his footsteps. So HA!

When you kiss your little Baby you kissed the face of God?
When you put it like that, I feel uncomfortable.

Mary did you know.. Ooo Ooo Ooo… The blind will see.The deaf will hear.The dead will live again.
Oh. Like zombies?

The lame will leap.The dumb will speak the praises of the lamb.
It’th a Chwistmas miwacle.

Mary, did you know that your baby boy is lord of all creation? Mary, did you know that your baby boy would one day rule the nations? Did you know that your baby boy is heaven’s perfect lamb? The sleeping child you’re holding is the great, I am.
Who is? He is? Or you are. You just said he’s the great but now you said you’re the great and I think it’s a little presumptuous of you to say something like that. That’s my son you’re talking about!

Dear World,

Dear World,

If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like you to fix a few things.

First, make old people stop asking me what I’m planning on doing with my life. Even though I know (I think) that I’ll write forever…unless I become a rocket scientist…it’s difficult to explain that yes, I plan on writing a novel and yes, I understand that it’s hard and yes, I am prepared to be poor-ish for a while. And no, I didn’t know that back in your day writers had to make pens out of needles and ink out of their blood. But thank you.

Second, if you would be so kind, I’d like people to stop being such jerks about being nice. I am 99% sure that humans are inherently good, so I would like you to make people stop being mean and angry. When I am nice to people, maybe they could be nice back…

Can rappers and singers please stop saying their names before they start rapping/singing? I don’t entirely understand the purpose of that…is it so I won’t forget who’s singing the song halfway through? Or maybe they forgot who they were and had to remind themselves. That’s what night after night of partying can do to you. It’s a hard life for those people.
Regardless, I don’t care whether it’s Jayysoooooon Derulo or LUDA! singing because either way I’ll probably dislike the song.

Also, maybe everyone could shut up vis a vis raising taxes. I don’t think people understand what taxes are for: they are to keep our country from debt. So, if you are rich, shut the heck up and pay some bloody taxes instead of taking that third trip to the Bahamas. And if you’re that upset about taxes being raised, maybe you shouldn’t have supported the 18 (ish) wars we are currently fighting. At this point, you could have paid all your taxes and saved a few third world countries from poverty.

And if Sarah Palin utters one more word of her nonsense, I’m flyin’ straight up to ‘Laska and givin’ her a piece of my mind. And then I’ll go hunt some moose. In a red jacket. I promise, it’ll look just like the cover of her first book (and a Lands’ End catalog). Or maybe I’ll ask her to read an exerpt from her book, which is apparently on “Faith, Freedom, and Flag” and try not to vomit until I’m home.

Also, I have two words for you: Christmas lights. Why must they get so tangled? And why must my cat try to eat them?

Can we make British the universal language? Cuz the way they say “party” makes me feel giddy. While we’re on the subject of feeling giddy, can I 1) marry Julian Casablancas and 2) have Enrique Iglesias follow me around and make those really nice sing-moan-squeal thingybopper sounds in my ear? No? Oh. Okay. Nevermind then.


It’s cold outside? Is that really the best argument you can think of?

I really can’t stay
But baby, it’s cold outside.
I’ve got to go away
But baby, it’s cold outside…

That is the lamest argument I’ve ever heard. If it’s cold outside, walk her home and cuddle her on the way. Or drive her in your car (carriage?). Or give her some coco for the road. But don’t go all date-rapey and beg her to stay on the premise that it’s cold outside.

The neighbors might faint
But baby, it’s bad out there
Say, what’s in this drink?
No cabs to be had out there

Lady, you suspect that there’s something in the drink and you don’t run screaming for the door? I guess nobody taught her about roofies. Induce vomiting immediately!

My sister will be suspicious
Gosh your lips look delicious


I’ve got to get home
But baby, you’d freeze out there
Say, lend me a coat
It’s up to your knees out there

Lend her your snowshoes, man. You are utterly useless.

I love Christmas songs. Really. Once mid-December rolls around, I listen to them nonstop. Usually, the cheesier the better. But this song drives me insane. The male part is usually sung in a really creepy deep voice that is waaaay too reminiscent of a date-rapist. It just weirds me out…I guess it’s meant to be sweet, and I usually appreciate that sort of thing, but…

Well, I guess the reason I hate it is because it’s something I’d totally fall for.


This is very obviously me, post-plastic surgery, with my hunky boyfriend. Obviously.

This is very obviously me, post-plastic surgery, with my hunky boyfriend. Obviously.

Dear Friends,

It’s Christmas time again, and with each passing day comes mounting anticipation for my latest novel, “Kristen Wiig Ate My Cake,” which comes out December 25. After the wild success of my autobiography (entitled “Saving Orphaned Ladybugs, and Other Things I Did In College”), my publishers wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I was forced to continue writing. Ohh, the days dragged on as I wrote, sometimes for an hour each day, revising at least twice before sending it off to print. Yes, it’s been a long two weeks of writing, but my publishers expect at least 2 million in revenue, so that should satisfy some of my newly acquired expensive tastes.

But I digress. This spring, I was fortunate enough to spend a month in the Bahamas with my male-model boyfriend Charlie, where we spent our days on the beach and our nights at the clubs with all the other really sexy people. We had a great time, but we were happy to finally come home to our posh London pad for a little relaxation before my next book tour. I spent the rest of the spring touring France, Italy, and the US and giving inspirational speeches to homeless people at charity banquets. Needless to say, they wished they were me.

I’ve learned so much from the homeless this year. I’ve learned that you ought to bathe at least once a day, unless you want to smell like rotten garbage. I’ve also learned that going days without bathing can cause massive breakouts, a serious problem among homeless English people especially (and a problem which I helped treat for hours on end at dermatology clinics – for a small fee, of course). Most importantly, I’ve learned that I’m incredibly fortunate to be so smart, beautiful, and successful; if I wasn’t, nobody would like me and I’d likely kill myself. There is so much to learn from those around us.

I’ve also had a lovely time celebrating the recent success of my sister, whose dance single (“Let’s Grove Wit It”) dropped this summer to wild success among America’s Tea Party members. Her husband/record producer Sergio de la Blanca has also produced music by Mini Mama, Dolce Bam Bam, and Joo Yoo Wanna.

Charlie has been modeling like crazy this year! I’m so proud of him; he recently guest judged on America’s Next Top Model after Fabio sprained his toe during an “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter” photo shoot. He has really brought out my spiritual side and taught me the wonders of yoga, which is just one more reason we look so great together in our Christmas photo (enclosed).

As I said before, this fall I devoted much of my time to my passion: writing about myself. I suffered from a severe depression after my autobiography grossed only 3 million, but after a few therapy sessions and another vacation with Charlie, I came to my senses and began writing again. I look forward to another great year in 2011. Even if it’s terrible, it’ll be better than yours.

We wish we could be with each of you this holiday season so everyone would know how much better looking we are than you.

Hope you all have a lovely holiday season, and don’t forget to look for “Kristen Wiig Ate My Cake” in stores Christmas day worldwide.